


Puppy Love

by tardisswimmingpool



Category: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade - Fandom
Genre: mystrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-08
Updated: 2014-12-08
Packaged: 2018-02-28 14:16:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2735678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tardisswimmingpool/pseuds/tardisswimmingpool
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just some fluff that I wrote awhile ago before I had an AO3 account</p>
            </blockquote>





	Puppy Love

Mumblings of passing pedestrians, honking of nearby cabs, car doors slamming. Noise, noise, noise. The whole society thing made Mycroft Holmes's head ache. His eyes broke through the crusty dust in the corners and blinked a few times to adjust to the brightness of the living room light. He yawned and rubbed at his head. The hair underneath his fingers felt greasy which reminded him that he had neglected to wash it before falling asleep. That was another thing. When had he fallen asleep? He didn't remember doing so.

The last thing Mycroft remembered was coming over to watch movies at Greg's house-their first real date- and he must've dozed off. He glanced towards the clock which showed it was already mid-morning. Luckily, it was his day off, but he still felt guilty for having spent the night. It was uncalled for, and most definitively not what he had planned. Obviously, Greg didn't have the heart to wake him or he wouldn't still be there. He reached for the lamp, and turned it off because the light from the window was bright enough. His boyfriend must've forgotten to turn it off, or he wanted there to be light in the event that Mycroft woke up in the middle of the night which he didn't. Boyfriend...

"Greg?" He sat up and realized he was dressed in a navy blue bathrobe.

The robe wasn't tied, so he could still see his sweater and jeans underneath it. That's when he remembered. Greg had let him borrow his bathrobe because it was cold, and he figured the blanket would make things uncomfortable for the both of them. The robe was cozy, but a little too warm for the morning temperature. It slipped off his shoulders as he stood up, and he took the extra effort to fold it and set it on the table for Greg to deal with as he wished. His sweater was wrinkled from having slept in it, and Mycroft frowned. He'd have to iron it when he got home. That was the only casual thing he owned that he'd be caught dead in. Most of the time he would wear a suit, but that wasn't really appropriate for a night in with Greg.

Mycroft straightened up the pillows, and looked around the living room and kitchen. Greg wasn't there. He couldn't really be asleep this late, could he? 

"Greg?" he left the living room behind in search of the other man. 

Greg's apartment wasn't that big, so, unless he had left, the only place he could be was his bedroom. Mycroft stood outside the door, hesitant to go in. If Greg was still asleep, knocking could wake him. However, so could just walking in. The creaking of the door perhaps. But Mycroft couldn't just leave without saying goodbye. And, by the looks of the time, he had to get going soon. Sherlock was due to show up, he assumed, at some point, and if Mycroft was caught sneaking back into his own house in the middle of the morning, he might suspect something. And, knowing Sherlock as well as he did, he would.

He bit his lip and decided that he would open the door as carefully as possible and whisper that he was leaving. Who knows if Greg would hear him. He could be a deep sleeper. If that was the case, Mycroft could always leave a note in the kitchen. 

"Greg?" He whispered as he opened the door.

To his surprise Greg was wide awake and dressed. He was busy sitting on his bed and reading the newspaper. He greeted Mycroft when he walked in with a bright smile.

"Oi, you look lovely this morning," he grinned.

Mycroft looked down at his wrinkled sweater, and he could only imagine the mess his hair was. Not exactly the definition of the word.

"I don't know if lovely is the right word" he said, "More like trashy." 

"Well, you better go take care of that," Greg joked, "You go out looking like that, and people might think we tried something."

Mycroft was aware of the humor in Greg's tone, but the mention of the two of them having sex-even as a joke- made him feel a little self-conscious. He tried to hide it and hoped Greg didn't notice. But he did.

"Look, I'm sorry. I didn't mean anything," he said. "Uh, the bathroom is over there. How about you go take a shower and I can set out a pair of my clothes for you to wear for the day. Or you can just pick for yourself. And I'll go make breakfast while you get ready."

He set the newspaper aside and climbed out of bed.

"Me wear your clothes?" Mycroft asked.

"Yea? Problem?"

"No," Mycroft mumbled. 

"Great," Greg walked past him, brushing him with his arm. "You can pick whatever from my dresser in here. Or I'm sure there might be a suitable...suit in the closet for you to borrow."

He chuckled at his joke even though he knew it was stupid. In fact he didn't even mean to say it which is probably why he thought it was funny. Mycroft managed a smile. 

"Alright, I'll be in the kitchen," he attempted to quickly kiss Mycroft's lips, but the other man turned suddenly and it ended up being a kiss on his cheek. 

Greg, slightly disappointed, just nodded with a smile and left his friend alone. Mycroft   
let out a huge breath that he had been holding in while having Greg so close to him. He knew he brushed past his arm on purpose. What was that called again? Flirting? Yes, that's it. Flirting. He wasn't entirely sure how to respond to such a reaction. After all, it wasn't an every day thing when somebody comes up and flirts with Mycroft Holmes. Especially someone who wouldn't be put off for sexual harassment because the feeling was mutual. Mycroft just didn't know how to return the flattery. 

"Are you still standing there?" Greg's voice called from the kitchen, "Look, I know I'm not fancy, but it's just for the day." 

Mycroft sighed and searched through Greg's closet. His wardrobe lacked variety. Mostly black and grey suits. Although, he soon found one that was acceptable and headed off to the bathroom with it. 

He met up with Greg in the kitchen, now showered and dressed in one of Greg's less-used grey suits. His boyfriend admired his choice, but he seemed a little dazed.

"What's wrong?" Mycroft asked. "Do I look fat?"

He, desperately, looked around the suit, searching for any signs of his stomach popping out. Greg noticed his boyfriend's extreme concern in his weight and rushed over to hug him. Mycroft cringed.

"What?" Greg asked and pulled back, immediately.

"Nothing. It's nothing," he rubbed the back of his neck, nervously.

"I didn't mean anything. Honestly, I didn't. It's just that," he tried to hold back some laughter. "That's the suit I wore when we first met."

"It was?"

"To be honest, I'm flattered. Means I had good taste back then," he winked and went back to stirring the eggs he had going on the stove. 

Mycroft wanted to smile, but he was still a little concerned about the suit. He remembered it now. Greg had looked so good in it. However, he's never seen him wear it since. He wondered why.

"Uh, just have a seat over there. Eggs are almost done," Greg said and motioned for Mycroft to sit on one of the stools near the back counter. 

Mycroft did as he was told. He stared off into the living room where he had slept that night. He remembered snuggling up against Greg while they watched the movie which was something he had never done before. But there was a first for everything he supposed. It's just that, he felt so close to Greg. Literally and emotionally. Never in his life did he feel that close to anybody. It was as if he could tell him anything. Absolutely everything. And yet, he still felt hesitant to do so because all the relationships he had ever had were never real like this, and he didn't want to jeopardize it. But would that insult Greg? It could just so easily turn it back around and ruin everything. But Mycroft had his own heart to worry about. But there was Greg's heart too. And it was scary to think of breaking it. Terrifying actually. 

"Do you want white or rye?" Greg asked. "Or raisin." 

"What?" Mycroft shook his head to bring it back to reality. "Sorry, I was blanked out."

"What kind of bread do you want?" Greg smiled at him and opened the fridge. 

"Oh," Mycroft wiped at his eyes, "Rye."

"Butter or jelly?" He asked.

"Jelly?" 

"Ay, it's good."

"Butter," he mumbled.

"Suit yourself. Coffee?" 

"Not today."

"Juice?"

"What do you got?"

"Apple, Grape, Orange."

"Orange."

Greg popped some toast in toaster and turned the stove off. He sat down next to Mycroft after grabbing him a glass of orange juice. 

"Here you are, beautiful," he said when he handed the glass to him.

Mycroft sat it down on the counter and sighed.

"What's wrong?"

"Why do you keep calling me stuff like that?"

"Whataya mean?"

"Beautiful and lovely."

"Why, cause you are," the toast popped up and Greg rushed to grab it.

He put some butter on the toast and placed it on a plate with some eggs. From there he proceeded to giving it to Mycroft.

"Aren't you going to have some?" he asked.

"Not too hungry," Greg said and sat down.

Mycroft didn't touch the food.

"What's wrong? Seriously," Greg asked.

"Greg, why do you like me?" 

"What's not to like?"

"I'm being serious."

Greg sighed. Obviously the little progress they had made the night before wasn't enough to break through his boyfriend's insecurities. But that's alright. Baby steps. However, it was up to Greg to make him feel welcome. He had to make him feel wanted because nobody else would. Because Greg did want him. He wanted Mycroft more than anything. 

"Well," he took his hand, "You're smart, well-dressed, kind when you want to be, strong-willed, you're a great leader, you take care of you brother whether he appreciates it or not, and you agreed to go out with me."

Mycroft laughed at that last one.

"I'm serious!" Greg protested, "How many people do you think will go out with me? I'm a hopeless romantic."

"No you aren't," Mycroft said.

"My ex-wife used to call me a lovestruck puppy," Greg said.

Mycroft laughed.

"Stop it. It's not funny," but Greg laughed too, especially when Mycroft started petting his hair and saying 'good Greg.'

"Alright, alright," Greg smiled. 

"You do kind of look like puppy. You're cute." 

They both laughed. Greg stopped though when he realized what Mycroft had actually said.

"I'm cute?" 

"I was only joking. No offense."

"No, no. That's not it," Greg was smiling.

"What?" Mycroft stared at him, but his questions were soon answered when Greg leaned forward and kissed him on the lips. 

Normally Mycroft would freak out, but, for some reason he didn't. He would've smiled if he could, but he returned his feelings by closing his eyes and kissing back. It felt good to be so close to Greg, and he started to feel like he belonged. That's it. He did belong. And he belonged here right next to Greg.

"You're still adorable," he said when the kiss ended.

Greg glared at him and shoved him in a playful manner.

"Just eat your breakfast."


End file.
